Promises Were Made to Be Broken
by kelhome
Summary: Dean learns that Sam is back and sets out to find him. Sam really wants Dean to live his apple pie life, but Dean has other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

Dean tightened the fittings on the new carburetor he was installing and let the sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival distract him. He'd been doing _fine _today. And then, he'd stepped outside to enjoy a cup of coffee. The sun had been shining, the sky was blue, and he was just blowing on the coffee to cool it off. It had been a small thing, really. Some kid had come out of the drugstore across the street, laughing. He'd leaned against the front of the store, just holding his side and chuckling away. Two seconds later, a smaller boy had come out, scowling. He gave the older boy a pissy look. "You're such a dick, Pete!"

Pete had just kept laughing. "Oh, my God. You should have seen your face, Kyle. 'It wasn't me! It wasn't me!' That was some comedy gold."

Kyle had put his hands on his hips, given a perfect little brother bitchface, then, smacked the back of Pete's head and taken off running. "Yeah, too funny!"

Pete rubbed the back of his head, straightened up to give chase. And then, Dean saw it. The look on his face as he watched his brother run away. Amused, fond, _happy._ All was right in Pete's world in that moment, as he laughed and gave chase to his little brother.

Dean had smiled slighty, remembering a hundred similar incidents between him and Sam.

Then, the smile had disappeared and the familiar impotent rage and pressing sadness had returned.

Because six months ago _his_ brother had beat back Lucifer, looked him in the eyes, face filled equally with terror and love, and fallen into hell. Dean was still trying to figure out how to deal with that.

On the one hand, he was so damn proud. Sammy had found the strength to overpower the devil. They had found their way back to what made them brothers, been able to use the strength and trust of that bond to save the planet from destruction.

So, you know, _yay_.

But, to save the world, Dean had had to lose the one person who meant the most to him. He was stuck in a loop of seeing Sam's eyes, telling Dean it was going to be okay. He'd found a way to push Lucifer back. "I've got him..." Like, his being able to jump into hell was a _good _thing. And, it was. And, it was. On the scale of 'what's good for humanity' Dean knew it was a colossal win. But, just like with every damned victory they'd ever had, the cost had been huge. Dean had sat there, nearly blind with the pain of his broken face, while his heart had ripped apart. Sam had nodded at him, sucked up his terror, and willfully jumped into a cage in hell with Lucifer and Michael.

And, Dean had helped him do it.

So, yeah. A win for the planet.

And, a crushing defeat for Dean Winchester.

It bothered Dean that they'd had no time for goodbye. Because, afterward, Dean had realized there were a lot of things he'd wished he'd said to Sam. He hoped that Sam knew them anyway. That Dean was proud of him, that he'd have gone in his place if he could. That Dean would really fuckin' _miss him_.

But, still. He should have said something. Should have given him the words to take with him.

Most days, it felt like Dean should have just taken his heart right out of his chest and chucked it in after them. Oh, sure, he was living with Lisa and Ben, and, he could probably build a life there. But, he couldn't seem to let himself do that. He really got the whole 'his heart just wasn't in it…' phrase now. Because, much as he knew it's what he once wanted, and what Sam genuinely wanted _for_ him, Dean just couldn't give over to this life. Too much was missing.

He did continued to try. And, some days, he could almost get there. He'd laugh at something Ben did, feel Lisa slip her arm around his waist, and it was just out of reach, that feeling of contentment, or belonging, or whatever the hell it was.

Dean finished with the carburator and slammed the hood closed. This one was done. He'd just pull the work order and write it up. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and turned to see who had come in the garage. A young guy was walking toward him, holding a piece of paper and looking around. Dean wiped his hands on the rag from his pocket. "Can I help you?"

The guy looked over at him. "Are you Dean?"

And something about the guy made his instincts hum. Dean put the rag down, kept his hands at his sides, was aware of the knife strapped to his ankle. "Yeah, I'm Dean."

The guy held the paper out. "Some dude gave me this to give to you."

Dean took the paper. "What dude?"

"Just some guy standing across the street."

Dean walked toward the bay doors. "You seem him anywhere now?"

The guy stood next to Dean, looked around outside. "No."

Dean glanced at the paper.

_**Sam is no longer in hell. He wanted you to know**__._

Dean felt a spike of adrenalin shoot through him. His pulse kicked up and his heart starting thumping in his chest. He grabbed the messenger by his collar, pressed him up against the doorjamb. "What did he look like?"

The guy was either a great actor, or he was suddenly freaking out. He tried to break Dean's implacable grip on him. His hands just scrabbled ineffectively. "Hey. Hey! Just some guy, okay? Jesus! Let me go!"

Dean loosened, but didn't break his hold. "Describe him. Was he tall? Dark hair?"

The guy shook his head frantically. "No, no. He was an old dude, gray hair, about my height. Blue eyes, I think? He just, seemed to appear out of nowhere. I kind of jumped, and he looked over at me. He was kind of spooky, to tell you the truth."

Dean let go and stepped back. "Okay, okay. Sorry for the body slam. Just, anything else you can tell me?"

The guy took in a long breath, tried to calm down. "Um. He was really calm. Like, _still_, you know? Just barely moved his head, had like, a presence about him? Like, I couldn't have said 'no' to him, almost."

Dean wondered. Castiel had not been back since that night in the car, when he'd asked Dean what he wanted more, peace or freedom?

He stepped back completely, put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, sorry, man. Just, this was," he waved the paper. "Some big news."

The guy nodded. Backed away. "Okay, well. See you around, man."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

He looked at the words again. _Sam is no longer in hell. He wanted you to know._

That night, Lisa must have asked him ten times what was bothering him. Dean just shook his head and did his damnedest to stay away from the booze. He looked at her, standing there in the kitchen, and felt like she was very far away from him. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to deal with something. Something from the past. It doesn't have anything to do with us, okay?"

And Dean had to hand it to Lisa, she really knew how to let it go and roll with the flow. She never nagged or pushed, was just a solid presence, willing to give Dean as much space as he wanted. He kissed her and told her he had to take a walk.

When he was deep in the woods, miles from the house, Dean stopped. He looked up. "Castiel. Please. I need to see you. I need you to tell me what's going on."

A bright light appeared above. It was still pretty far off, but Dean heard a voice, probably just in his head, it was so quiet. "I do not have a vessel, and you cannot look upon my true form. Will this suffice?"

Dean almost smiled. "It will suffice fine. Did you give me the news about Sam?"

There was a humming quiet while Dean waited. "One of my brothers did, yes. I did not want to ask another human to sacrifice himself so I could talk to you in person."

Dean's heart was in his throat. "It doesn't matter. Tell me. Please."

Another pause. Cas really did suck at exposition. "Dean, I'm not certain how much information I should give you. You have earned your rest. What I know of Sam will not aid you in any way."

Dean sighed. "Forget about aiding me. Just, tell me. Cas. I need to know. Whatever is going on with him. I need to know."

"You won't like it."

Dean closed his eyes, took in a long breath. "Just start with the sentence, 'Sam is no longer in hell…'"

"Sam is no longer in hell. That is true. At least, he is no longer in the cage with Lucifer. He is…troubled. But, he is free from hell."

"Troubled how?"

Dean could hear the reluctance to answer. "Dean…I cannot…"

Dean's patience snapped. "God dammit, Cas. You know what that kid is to me. If you know _anything _you better spill it, and I mean right now."

"You put me in an difficult position, Dean. Sam was very clear in what he wanted you to know, and _not _know."

Dean clenched his fists, reached for calm. "Sam isn't here, right now. You are. And you owe me the truth, Cas. At least, we always had truth between us, didn't we?"

"A clever argument, to be sure."

Dean waited. There was something big here. He could feel it. And, Sam, the little shit, was trying to keep him out of the loop. _You'll never learn, will you Sammy? If it concerns you, it concerns me. _

"Dean, if I tell you this, will you promise not to act?"

Dean heart started thumping heavily again. There was _definitely _something here. "I'm not promising a damn thing. Tell me what you know." Silence. "Please, Cas. Tell me."

And, if air could sigh, he heard Castiel give over. "Fine. But, only because I think he needs your help. Sam is at a monastery in Maine. "

Dean actually felt his heart stop. It kicked in again with a slamming rhythm as he tried to understand. "What, you mean his spirit, his ghost?" And in Castiel's pause, Dean knew. _Holy Mother of God. _"Sam's alive!"

Castiel, even though he couldn't feel human emotion, could understand the seismic shift in Dean. He observed how Dean closed his eyes, dropped to his knees and bowed his head. If he'd had a vessel, Casteil would have put his hand on Dean's head, tried to soothe the storm of feelings he could see blowing through his human friend. But, he could do none of those things, so he explained.

"Sam was pulled from the pit, it's true. Rumor is, that God himself did it. But, no one knows for certain. He was given back his body, and put near here, some time ago."

Dean's eyes snapped open. "Near here? Some time ago? When? What does that mean?"

"Dean, I was not here. I was tending to…other things. I only learned Sam's fate recently, when I, ah…tried to 'check up on him' in the cage. He was not there, and I made some inquiries."

Dean tried to keep his freak out to a minimum. This wasn't Cas' fault. _Stay focused, Dean._ "Okay. So, Sam's at a monastery, and he isn't doing well. Is that all we've got?"

Castiel paused, and Dean felt as if he had come closer. "His mind is not well."

Dean laughed harshly. "Well, no kidding, Cas. Having Lucifer as your soul companion might tend to screw a guy up."

"I tried to communicate with him, but he is closed off."

Dean looked up, despite himself. The light forced his eyes closed. "Closed off how?"

"It is difficult to explain to you. Before, even when Sam had been drinking the blood, or having dark thoughts, I could see his mind. I could see his soul. He was always open to me. He was ever trying to find good, even in the midst of his deepest confusion."

"And, now?"

"Everything is closed. His mind, his heart, his soul. I watched him for some time, and all he did was sit by a window. His eyes were open, but he did not hear me. He did not react to my presence. I could not stay long, the other monks were starting to sense me. I tried, Dean. Truly. It was as if all his human emotions were burned away. As I started to fade, he spoke. He said, "Tell Dean I'm not in hell. Nothing else. Just that."

Dean nodded. He stood up, walked a bit, trying to take in the fact that Sam was alive. That he was aware enough to know who Dean was. That he had enough 'Sam' in him to know Dean was wrecked over his being in hell. The fact that he wanted Dean to know he was out told him enough. Sam was in there.

"Cas. Thank you. Really. I -" Dean coughed through the emotion suddenly clogging his throat. "I kind of miss you, man."

Somehow, he could feel Castiel smile. "I am never far away, Dean. If you have need."

Dean sighed. "Same here. You know, if you have something a human could do for you."

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean felt the angel leave. The light dimmed then disappeared.

_Well, damn you, Sam. You found a way to friggin' bring me joy, and piss me off at the same time, same as ever. _ Then, for the first time in months, Dean truly smiled. It was time to gas up the Impala and head to Maine.

*****  
Dean had said goodbye to Ben and Lisa. Whatever he was facing with Sam, it wasn't fair to make her wait around for him. So, he'd said he loved her, and thank you and he didn't know when he'd be back. She'd given him a long look, asked if this was something from his past. Dean had said, 'It's everything from my past.'

Lisa had kissed him. Told him to talk to Ben, explain why he was leaving. "I love you, Dean. But, he's a kid, and you need to tell him why you won't be here."

And, that's why he'd stayed with her when he was broken and lost. Because she took him wherever he was, and let him go when he needed to be gone. He'd stood in the doorway, looking at the two of them. "I don't know how to thank you, both of you. When I came here, well, I was a mess. You gave me a home and a place to lick my wounds. You made me see that I could go on living, and that was kind of an iffy proposition when I got here."

Ben had sighed, ignored the two fat tears in his eyes. "Someday, will you come back again?"

Dean had clamped down on his own emotions. "Yeah, someday I'll come around and see how you're doing. I promise."

Lisa had kissed him, and whispered, "Let me know you're okay when you can."

Dean had hugged her tight. "I will. I will."

Driving up to the unadorned gate of St. Bartholomew's Monastery was pretty anti-climactic. There wasn't much to see beyond a hell of a lot of trees. The actual building was set high on a pine-crusted mountain in the wilds of Maine's coastline. He'd seen it on their website. _Who would have thought monks would have a damn web page? _The large building was made of stone, and hidden well amongst the old growth forest that surrounded it. There were no signs pointing out its location, and only a single road, with a closed iron gate keeping it from the public.

Sam was in there.

Dean picked the lock, could see no electronic surveillance, and so drove through, not bothering to lock it behind him. At the top, there was a wide stone arch that lead to a courtyard where two other cars were parked. Both old Jeeps. Dean pulled up next to them and got out. The simple wooden door didn't have a knocker and it was so thick Dean doubted anyone would hear a knock. He lifted the iron latch and let himself in.

He stood there in the quiet for a minute. He could see why Sam would seek this place out. After his own stint in hell, Dean's mind had made enough noise for a marching band in a Mardi Gras parade. What had helped him was having Sam beside him, having the Impala's engine soothe him. He wondered if this place was soothing Sam.

A portly monk came down the large wooden staircase in front of him. "Good evening. I'm brother Timothy. Are you in need of assistance?"

Dean cleared his throat. Now that he was here, now that he was actually going to see Sam, his chest was getting kind of tight and his mouth was drying up. "Ah, yes. I'm looking for my brother. Not, you know, a brother like you, but my _actual _brother. Um, we have the same parents, I mean -"

The monk smiled. "I get it. How can I help you?"

Dean stopped dithering. Pulled out his wallet, and the one photo of Sam he had from the last two years. It was a Polaroid from some state fair where they'd been looking into a demon sighting. Some booth had taken them for a dollar, and Dean had made Sam stand still long enough to have one taken. "In case you go missing or something." It had been one moment of lightness, watching Sam give a fake smile to the girl behind the camera, while he gritted his teeth and told Dean he would eat nothing but burritos for the next week. Dean had laughed, Sam's expression had loosened, and he actually had a slight grin in the photo. Dean had looked at it a lot in the last few months, absurdly grateful for that one moment of levity between them. He showed the photo to the monk. "Have you seen him? I heard he might be here."

The monk looked, and his face went from open and friendly to concerned. "Ah, yes. Sam."

Dean closed his eyes and let out a long breath, felt his eyes fill. He couldn't help it. After everything, he wasn't sure he'd let himself believe Sam could really be alive. And this round-faced monk had just confirmed it. _Jesus. He's really back. _

Brother Timothy continued. "But, I'm afraid he left, oh, three days ago?"

Dean's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"He just wasn't here after vespers on Monday. His bed was neatly made, but his backpack was gone. And, I'm sorry to say, so was he."

"Did he say anything to anyone about where he might be going?"

The monk shook his head and let out a troubled sigh. "I'm afraid Sam didn't talk to anyone when he was here. He showed up about three weeks ago, looking…_hollow,_ is really the only word that comes to mind. He looked very ill, like he'd been ravaged by some kind of sickness. When he looked at me, it was like I could see all the pain and sadness of the ages in his eyes. I asked if he needed refuge. He nodded, just the once, and I showed him to a room. He stayed for almost three weeks. I think he looked better. I only checked up on him a couple of times. He just wanted a place to rest, I think." He looked intently at Dean. "Is there anything I can do for _you_?"

Dean looked at the monk, and strangely enough, he felt the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile. "No. You took care of him when he needed it. That's something I can never thank you enough for. Really."

The monk studied him for another moment. "You're going to look for him."

Dean's smile became a full-on grin. "No. I'm going to _find _him."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Sam knew he was in Pennsylvania. He knew it was evening, and that he was too tired to drive any longer. He should sleep. So, he needed a bed. Which meant, look for a motel. _Great powers of reasoning, Sam. Maybe we'll try fingerpainting next. _His mind was slowly starting to function again. What used to be second nature to him, he was still having to remind himself how to do. It was disconcerting and embarrassing, but it was getting better.

When he'd first come back, his head had been filled with…too much. He could still feel the icy rage and destructive energy of Lucifer. He could still hear and smell and see all the sick and twisted souls that had surrounded him in hell. The pain…well, Lucifer had been creative in his revenge. All the constant confusion in his head repeatedly made him question if he were really back, or if this were another one of his desperate fantasies while he recovered from Lucifer's torture. Even after a few weeks topside, he'd be walking or driving or sleeping, and his vision would go red, then fill with all he'd had seen in the pit. The sounds of groaning and screaming, of consuming _desperation.._.his own or others', surrounded him. It was just a constant assault of pain and fury and fear that he remembered and relived over and over again.

He couldn't control it, or the intensity of it or when it would hit him. Walking along and BAM. Back in the pit, no warning, no relief. Just, relentless suffering and evil and hopelessness.

It had almost made him jump in front of a freight train a while back. He'd been walking near some tracks when he'd heard the train approaching. He felt the rumble of the powerful engine approaching, and the need to have everything just _stop _had been nearly overwhelming. It would have been so simple. Just, let the train take him out of here. Heaven, hell, angels, demons, Lucifer, God…none of it felt like it even mattered anymore. He just needed everything to stop swirling in his head 24/7. So, he'd walked closer. Felt the vibration in the ground as the train came around the curve about 100 yards in front of him.

Then, he'd thought of Dean.

He thought of everything Dean had been through, and what it might make him feel if he were to find out about this. And, he thought about Dean being in hell and how he'd come back and just soldiered on and coped somehow. Without Sam's help, he'd just found a way to keep going. And, that whole time, even when Sam was at his worst, the demon blood and Ruby skewing a lot of his choices, Dean had never _left_.

He thought of his brother's broken face in that cemetery, _telling_ Sam he wasn't going to leave him. That Sam wasn't alone. That Dean was _there_. Even as Lucifer beat him to death, Dean wasn't going to leave him.

So, Sam didn't leave, either.

But he had to figure out a way to shut of the constant stream of hell's residue. He had to get out from under it. So, for a while, he'd just shut _everything _off. He would blank his mind, and all would finally be still and quiet.

Unfortunately, when he'd come back to himself he wouldn't know what day it was, or where he was, or what had happened while the lights had been turned off. Weeks passed like that, Sam shutting down, then starting up again, not sure where he was or what he'd done.

Then, he'd found the monastery. The quiet had been safe there. He didn't have to worry about where he was, or who was watching him. He'd just sat there, day after day, his mind resting, hoping time would present some solution.

It hadn't, of course. When had time ever been a friend to Sam Winchester? But, it had given him the quiet and the space he'd needed to order his thoughts. To find the strength to _want _to go forward. To remember that he owed his brother better than this catatonic state he was hiding in.

So, he'd determined to come back, get his mind back on line. It hadn't worked too well, at first. He was either in utter quiet and stillness, or he was hearing screams and sobbing, watching himself or others being torn apart. Watching Adam writhe upon the rack…it was almost a relief when Lucifer would turn from Michael and concentrate on Sam. The angel would rip at him, tearing things off or inside of Sam that made his thoughts go white and hot. It forced his mind off the other stuff, focused him. Lucifer's cajoling, whining voice would get closer and closer, rise in his head like a fever. '_Sam, we're meant to live eternity together…we could have ruled the earth together. Now, I'll just rip you apart… for, well, forever. You'd have been better off helping me. In fact, maybe you can_ still _help me…ripping souls apart is actually quite fun if you give it a chance...' _A soul would appear in front of Sam, housed in a body that was open and festering and bleeding. Eyes pleading with Sam to stop the pain, even as Lucifer tore flesh and gouged intestines that were already dangling. '_Sam, let go. Help me…' _

And Sam would try to remind himself that it was over. _Stay in the here and now. It's not real. You're out. It's not real…_

Sam also realized, too late of course, that he hadn't really appreciated what Dean had been up against when he'd returned from hell. He'd been too desensitized and distracted to notice much, thanks to the shit choices he'd made while Dean had been down under. But, when he'd returned, Sam had only noticed the obvious - Dean's drinking, his nightmares, the way he'd go quiet. But, he hadn't thought too much about it. Dean was back, and Sam had an _agenda _to take care of.

_Some brother you are, eh Sam? _Now that Sam knew about the ways hell could torture, his lack of support toward Dean was just one more stone added to the heaping pile of his regrets. Dean had really needed him back then, and Sam hadn't even noticed.

So now, Sam was out of hell, and he had a whole new appreciation for his brother's unbelievable strength. Because Sam was having a hell of a time trying to quiet his memories enough to function. And, the real kicker was, even if he did find a way to quiet his mind, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, after. Everything inside and around him felt warped. Without the solid and safe presence of Dean to anchor him, Sam wasn't sure how to move forward, how to position himself back in his life. Should he go back to hunting? Was he stable enough to really do the job? Or, maybe, he should stick with research, start collecting books. See if his mind stabilized.

What he _wasn't _going to do was make any of this Dean's problem. That much he was clear on. Dean had settled in with Lisa. Sam had seen it himself on his first night back. They had been having dinner, at a table, passing the potatoes, and smiling, for pity's sake. When had Dean ever sat at a dinner table, chatting and smiling and making conversation with a family? Never, that's when_._ _And, I'm not gonna be the selfish, needy bastard that takes that away from him. _

Dean had suffered enough.

He'd earned his peace.

Sam had given him what he could. He'd made sure Castiel told Dean that he was out of hell. That was the one thought that had been clear in the cacophony of his mind: 'Dean needs to know I'm not in hell.' After that, Dean would have nothing to keep him from enjoying his family, his job, his _life_. All Sam would bring was more of the same crap they'd been dealing with their whole lives.

No, there was one thing that Sam wanted. And it was for Dean to be free. 

Up on the right, Sam saw a road sign for a Motel 6 in two miles. He'd pull over, get some sleep. Maybe he'd take hold of his courage and actually look through the papers, see if there were any possible hunts in the vicinity. Maybe, it was time to find out if he could handle getting back on the job.

As Dean drove southwest through Pennsylvania, he tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel and sang along with Kansas' 'Point of No Return.' The sun was setting, he'd caught Sam's trail, and his heart felt lighter than it had in months. Years, even.

Sam may be screwed up, but, Dean would deal with that when he found him. Dean now had his fundamental faith back. He and Sam were stronger together. They could conquer any problem, as long as they stuck _together_. Damaged or not, he was still Sam and that was good enough for him.

Dean had found his trail. In the first sizable town near the monastery, Dean had slipped into the police station and hacked into their stolen car reports. There were only three. So, now he knew Sam was driving a 1977 green Pontiac Bonneville. Because Sam would never have taken a Volkswagon Beetle, or a Mini Cooper.

He'd also learned that Sam had made some money shooting pool in upstate New York. A guy in the pool hall/bar just off the interstate remembered him because he hadn't even pretended to suck at pool. "The kid just stood there, said, 'I'm pretty good if anyone wants a game,' and proceeded to whip anybody stupid enough to take him on. He didn't say much else. Just lined up his shots, one after the other, and sank every one. Most impressive run of no misses I've ever seen, and I've been around here a long time. Kid must have left with a couple thousand dollars."

Dean had thanked him, felt a spark of pride, because he'd been the one to teach Sam how to play, and headed southwest. It was another one of Sam's quirks, that he didn't like to drive directly East, South, North or West. Instead, he always preferred to go northeast, southwest, northwest, whatever. Like he was zig-zagging to keep the baddies off their trail. So, Dean headed southwest from the pool place. He started looking for motels when he was far enough away to know Sam would be getting tired. Now, he was in southwestern Pennsylvania, and he'd passed through his 10th small town, looking for that green Bonneville. He hadn't found it yet, but he would.

He knew he should probably be feeling something other than this bubbling happiness. Maybe, anger that Sam was running from him? Or, sadness to have left Lisa and Ben behind? Hurt that Sam didn't want to Dean to find him? Whatever. Maybe later. Right now, Dean couldn't help that he felt like he was finally breathing again. That all his cylinders were humming back to life. His freak of a brother had found a way, or been given a free ticket, to get out of hell.

Dean Winchester actually felt happy_. Go figure. _

His cell phone rang next to him. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, but sighed, picked it up anyway. "Yeah?"

A long moment of dead air. And, just when he was going to hang up, he heard a raspy, "Dean?"

Dean veered the car onto the shoulder and threw her into park in about three seconds flat. He barely dared breathe. "Sam?"

Then, he heard an exhaled breath. After another agonizing pause, Sam spoke, sighed out a soft "Yeah."

Neither one of them spoke for long, heavy moments. Finally, Dean leaned his head against the headrest, closed his eyes. "Jesus, Sam."

He heard Sam let out another long breath. "I know."

"Where are you, man? Are you okay?"

Sam didn't answer for a long time. His voice, when it came, sounded rusty and tired. "Dean, I'm glad you know that I'm out. But, please…_please _go back. Don't…just, stop looking for me and go back."

Dean's eyes popped open, he felt a flash of anger. _Was this kid for real? _"No. No way, Sammy. I'm -" Then, Dean's heart rate doubled. "How do you know that I'm looking for you?" Sam didn't answer. And, Dean knew. He freakin' _knew_. "You saw me. I'm close and you saw me!" Dean threw the car in gear and pulled a u-turn right across six lanes of traffic. "You asshole. You saw me and didn't even bother to say 'hi?'"

Sam's breath hitched as he answered. "Dean…All I want…just go back. You've earned a break from all this…a break from _me_…" His voice wobbled and he stopped.

Dean shook his head. "Fuck that, Sam. You are a God damned moron. You are so far below moron, I don't know what to call you. An imbecilic, amoebic, idiot of a moron? You think I could go anywhere but after you? Really? From the moment Cas told me, all I could think about was-" he stopped. Swallowed a lump of emotion. Could Sam really not _know _this?

Another long pause. Dean could hear Sam breathing. Finally, Sam cleared his throat, in a choked whisper, he said, "'Amoebic?'"

Dean fought his smile. _That's it, Sammy. You can do this. It's just me. _Dean had to clear his own throat. "Stay on point, jackass. Tell me where you are."

Silence.

"I mean it, Sam. You know I'll find you. Are you going to make me drive all night chasing your damned overgrown ass? Why don't you save us both the energy and just tell me where you are." Dean waited. He could practically hear Sam trying to decide. _Come on, man. Give me this. Please. _Finally, the familiar Sammy Winchester huff.

"Motel 6. Route 32. I saw you about an hour ago." He hung up.

Dean's smile grew even bigger as he pressed the gas nearly to the floor. _On my way, Sammy._

Dean backtracked toward Route 32, saw the Motel 6 after about 40 minutes. He pulled into the parking lot spraying gravel. Slowing, driving around back he spotted the green Bonneville. He threw the car into park, turned her off, heaved a sigh, dropped his head to the steering wheel and cried.

In that moment, everything he'd held at bay over the past few days, past few _months,_ came washing over him in one big wave. Sam was back. He was alive and behind a door 30 feet away. All the pain, all the emptiness and grief and _sadness_ was flowing out of Dean as he sat there, with the last rays of the sun glinting off the hood of the Impala. When it eased, Dean grabbed a t-shirt from the back seat, mopped his face and tried to get himself under control.

_Jesus. Sam was really here._

The door in front of where the Bonneville was parked opened.

And there was Sam.

He was squinting against the sun, holding his hand up to block the rays shining into his eyes. He looked over at the Impala, saw Dean watching him. His composure broke. His hands came up to cover his face, and his shoulders heaved.

That sent Dean right back to emo-ville, himself. He got out of the car and walked toward Sam. All he could do when he got close was choke out, "Hey."

Sam didn't even look at him, just opened his arms and pulled Dean to him. Dean grabbed him just as tightly, and they stood there, bawling like little girls while the day grew dim around them. Sam was whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean…"

Dean didn't know what he was sorry for. Didn't care. He let himself just feel the fact that Sam was here, right _here. _He rocked his little brother, just like he was three and not a gigantic, overgrown 27. "Shut up, just…shut up."

Sam dropped his head so it was resting on Dean's shoulder. He let out a long, shaky breath. "I didn't want you to know. I wanted you to be free."

Dean huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, freedom kind of sucks when everything you care about is…" _gone…dead…_not _here._

Sam tightened his arms. "Yeah…yeah." Finally, he wiped his face on Dean's shoulder and straightened up. He stood back a bit, looked Dean in the eyes. The kid looked ravaged, haggard and thin and pale.

And Dean had never seen anything so great in his whole life. He cleared his throat, brought his arm up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. "It's good to see you, Sam."

Sam nodded. He looked at Dean for another long moment, and then he smiled. Damn, if Dean didn't feel like bursting out crying again at the sight of that stupid, dimpled grin. Sam stepped back and let his arms drop to his sides. "Good to see you, too. Really…really good to see you, too."

Dean drew in a breath. "You know, if you didn't look so pathetic, I would punch you in the face. Multiple times. What the fuck, Sam? Why didn't you tell me when you got out? Why would you let me…"

Sam sighed, looked down at his feet. He turned back toward the room.

Dean followed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Inside Sam's room, it was dim. The dying rays of daylight barely penetrated the closed blinds over the one window. Dean followed Sam in, shut the door. He saw the neat, orderly room and felt the anger bubbling again. No coffee cups or take out containers, no duffle bag or laptop. Just one measly backpack and that was it. A neatly folded newspaper was on the one table. The bed was unwrinkled. It was like Sam was doing his best not to leave even a gumwrapper in his wake. Dean reigned in his rising temper and turned to Sam. He wanted to rail into him, lecture him about his selfishness and disregard for his only surviving family. He would have, too. He had a really great, invective-laced rant that he'd been working on while he drove.

But, now, looking at Sam, the words kind of died.

The kid looked terrible. He was skinny, which, on Sam, kind of a scarecrow look. He had some sort of beard going on, but, again, on Sam, more Unibomber than shabby chic. His eyes were so tired, so bleak and done, that Dean didn't have the heart to rip into him.

Even though he _more _than deserved it.

Sam stayed standing, he gestured to the table, where there were two chairs. "Have a seat? I don't have anything to drink or…anything. Sorry. If you're thirsty, I think there's a soda machine -"

Dean took a step forward. After seeing the pathetic room, and the state Sam was in, his emotions from the whole deal, his voice come out rough, angry. "Sam. Stop." Sam looked up, and the wariness in his eyes gave Dean the anchor he needed. _Chill out, Dean._ _That is not what he needs from you right now. Get a grip. _ Dean gentled his tone. "Sam, you don't have to _host _me, ok? Just, plant it and tell me what the hell's been going on with you."

Sam sighed. He sat down at the table, waited, watched in silence, until Dean took the seat across from him. "I appreciate that you came all this way. And, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you myself, that I was out. But, now that you've seen for yourself, would you just…can you go back to your life? I'll keep in touch, I promise-"

Dean leaned in. His voice was low, edging back toward anger. "You are un-fucking-believable."

"What?"

"'What?' Jesus Christ, Sam. You're back from the dead. You're out of _Lucifer's cage _and I'm just supposed to, what? Pat you on the head and say 'welcome home, Sam. But, you know, got to go fix a timing belt, see ya?' Really?" Dean huffed out a short laugh. "Do you know me at all?"

Sam looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumped. Defeat was written all over his face. "Yeah, I do know you. I know you are going to drop everything to make sure I'm okay, make sure I'm taken care of…just, cut loose of everything you've built in the last few months. Because of me. And…I'm just not okay with that. I'm not._"_

Dean tried to hear what Sam was saying without jumping down his throat. He knew Sam really did want him to live that 'apple pie' life he'd made Dean promise to live. And, he hadn't been wrong. Dean _had_ needed that life. After what happened at Stull Cemetery, hell most of last year, he'd needed someplace safe. Someplace uncomplicated. And, Lisa and Ben had been that for him.

But, Dean Winchester, the _real _Dean Winchester, didn't really need safe and quiet. He needed to be doing something useful. He needed to be looking out for others, even if they didn't know he was doing it. He needed to make sure his brother was okay. To let Sam walk away because he'd wanted college, well, that was one thing. That was Sam's choice. But, to abandon his brother when he was freshly back from hell and totally screwed up? Yeah. Not going to happen. He scoffed at Sam. "You think I could just go back to working at the garage, taking Ben to Tae Kwon Do class and helping Lisa do the dishes, while you're out here alone?"

"Yes." Sam shot to his feet, slammed his fist down onto the table and yelled, "Yes! That's exactly what I want you to do. Go back, Dean. You are free of all of this bullshit! Why in the world would you want to-" He stopped, bowed his head, breathed deeply to calm himself down. "Dean. Please. I'm fine, okay? I'm researching a job, and I'm okay to do this on my own. It, just…it would make me so happy if you'd go back to your normal, everyday, work-at-the-garage-and-drive-a-carpool life."

"And what about your life, Sam?" And, as Dean knew he would, Sam looked confused at that. His brother was _confused _by the concept that he should have his own 'normal' life. "Why do I get to have the 'apple pie' life, and you get to go research another case? How is that right or fair, hmm?"

Sam shook his head. "It's not the same for me. You actually have a real shot at it. I'm _never _gonna have…look, it's not the same. But, it's okay. I can handle it. I can handle anything that isn't…_that _place."

That, right there, kind of broke Dean's heart. Because Sam was no longer striving for normal or safe or _anything_. He was just going to go on, because living in this sparse hotel room with no food or books or laptop, no _brother, _was better than where he'd been. And, Dean got that_. _"Sam, I know, okay? I know about the screaming in your head, and the smell of sulfur when you come out of a nightmare. I know horrible things were done to you. Maybe you did some pretty horrible things yourself. But, that's over, now. It's really over. You're allowed to want something other than this."

Sam looked up at that, met Dean's eyes. "You're kidding, right? You think that I'm going to ever be more than this, right here? A demon blood addict with PTSD from hell, literally? Even if I weren't totally messed up, which I am, most hunters want nothing more than my head on a pike. I let Lucifer free, Dean. I did that. If it were some other guy, I'd probably want to take him out, too. You think I can just stop, stay in one place for a year or two working at some university or library? I'll be dead inside a month. And, beyond _that_, you think I'm ever gonna find a woman who wants any part of me? Please. This is what I have. And, I'm okay with that. But, I'm not okay with that for you. Because you have other options."

Dean smiled at that. "Oh, I do, do I?"

Sam watched him, must have seen the truth in Dean's face. He leaned in, loomed over Dean from where he stood across from him. "No. No, I am not letting you do this."

Dean sighed, kept a small part of his smile. "I thought all last year was about how we weren't 'letting' each other do things, anymore? That we were grown ups who got to make our own decisions? Or, was that just for you?"

Sam smacked the table one more time, then spun away to pace. His hands went to his head and pulled on his hair. He didn't like that his puppy eyes and pleas were not going to sway Dean. Not this time. Finally, after a couple of turns of the room, Sam stopped, leaned against the wall, facing Dean. "You think it's your job to stay with me. I'm telling you, it isn't. I can take care of myself, now. You don't-"

Dean stood up. "You're right. I used to think it was my job to take care of you. And it was. For a long time, you were younger, smaller, less experienced. And you were the baby brother that Dad had put in my keeping as the house burned around us. But, over the last few years, we have walked a damn hard road together. I think it's fair to say, we've pretty much broken out of the roles we played growing up. It hasn't been easy for me, and I know it hasn't been easy for you. But, we're here. We made it. Together, we stopped the friggin' apocalypse. You think we can't tackle a little hangover from hell? Please, bitch. No problem."

Sam gave him a tired smile. Then, he sighed, tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Dean…everything is just so messed up. I really wanted you to have a chance at normal. You deserve it, more than anybody, you deserve it."

"Yeah? What did I do that was so special, hm? I didn't do any more-"

"You never left."

Dean stopped talking. "What?"

"All the shit I pulled on you, you never left."

Dean felt emotion clog his throat again. Because he felt the weight behind those words. He remembered every bit of what they'd gone through. And, as much as Sam had made him angry and frustrated and heartbroken, he'd also fought so hard against his own darkness, his demon blood and the bad choices that had nearly broken him. But, together, they'd come through it. They'd stuck together, and they'd come through. "Yeah. And, neither did you. Sam, look, I'm your brother. That's never going to change. It just, it's there. And, it's…" _everything to me. _"It's important. It is." He cleared his throat, tried to get past the lump of feeling sitting there. "And, no brother of mine is going to wander around alone, not eating, barely sleeping, looking over his shoulder 24/7 for vigilante hunters, and trying to cover his own back going after some god damned chupacabra. Not while there's breath in my body. It's just not gonna happen. Period. So, sorry if it messes with your idea of me living some perfect life while you hunt in the gloomy shadows. But, you are not shaking me off. That's just the fact, plain and simple."

Sam opened his eyes, shook his head at the ceiling. He went over and sank down onto one of the beds, hid his face in his hands again. "Dean…damn it. This isn't what I want. I will hate myself even more if I pull you back into all this shit." He uncovered his face, looked up at Dean with his sad, tired eyes. "Please, don't do this."

Dean smiled, a real smile, despite Sam's despair. He got up and went to sit next to Sam on the bed. He put his arm across Sam's shoulders, pulled him in. Sam's head dropped heavily to his shoulder. Dean felt him let out a long breath of relief at the contact. He felt the same, himself. "Already done, kid. Already done."

And, maybe Dean should have felt a little regret that he was leaving normal behind. But, really, the Winchester brothers standing back to back, taking all comers, supernatural or otherwise? That was more his style.

Sam snorted against his shoulder. "Not even 20 minutes in, and you call me a 'bitch' already?"

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder. Was already thinking about getting some food from the diner he'd seen driving in. "That because you are, Sam."

And, quietly, without moving his head, Sam replied, "Shut up, Jerk."

The End


End file.
